Daddy's Little Monster
by simplescribe6
Summary: Joker/Harley lemon fic incorporating the few scenes of the movie into the narrative. Eventual smut, not immediate. Graphic depictions of violence and mature subject matter- be warned!
1. Under the Skin

Her black heels went clack-clack-clack, reverberating eerily down the large empty halls of Arkham Asylum. Thin black pencil skirt, modest blouse, and the crisp white coat that was standard for all psychologists at Arkham fit snugly around a petite blonde woman. A little ID badge hung loosely around her neck, the name _Harleen Quinzel - Psychiatrist_ typed in small black print. Beneath, a picture of the woman, girlish face beaming hopefully out at the world. The face she wore now was far more serious, clutching a little binder to her chest like a lifesaver. She moved briskly down the halls, trying to ignore the nagging fear that told her to turn around and run, that she was a fraud, and needed to get out before anyone noticed.

It was true, she was the youngest psychologist ever accepted on staff at the Asylum. Sure, she had gotten fantastic grades in med school. Top of her class. People liked to whisper that she had given certain favours to the certain people, but that was bullshit. She had worked hard for her degree, and every damn bit of it had come from her. After-graduation proved to be the tougher time; unfortunately the world seemed to run on the principle of _"It's not what you know, it's who you know"_ , and Harleen didn't know much of anybody. Her residency was depressing to say the least, mounting debt and abysmal prospects had led her to find those people who would help her out for the right... favour. Everyone whispered about it because of her looks, her age, her background, and desperation had led her to stop giving a shit and do what she needed to do to survive. A little bit of work later and she had a transfer to Arkham in the works, residency unfinished yet somehow forgotten.

Harleen was no stranger to adversity. She'd grown up poor, in a cramped little apartment in Brooklyn with her mom, brother, and father (before he left). Often as a child she'd been lulled to sleep by the sound of screaming neighbours, gunshots, and police sirens. When she was young it had affected her deeply, being a sensitive child, but over the years a certain tolerance had developed. Her mom had worked three jobs to pay for Harleen's gymnastics, her singular talent, and she had poured herself into the sport, channeling all her frustration and despair into long, gruelling practices. It payed off, too. When she told her mom about the scholarship, she burst into tears. Finally, a chance at legitimacy, but she had had no idea then the discrimination she would face in school.

So, the Asylum circulated with rumours about how such a pretty face could have risen so quickly. Harleen didn't much care, not really. Let them talk. With a position like this, she really had a chance at paying for that surgery her mother needed, on top of affording groceries and rent. However... She really hadn't expected her first assignment to be with _him._ It was unthinkable, to say the least. It was as if, since dispensing with tradition in hiring her in the first place, the higher-ups had simply thrown the rule book right out the window. Perhaps the guy who'd gotten her this job had some sense of propriety and had worked to get her this assignment in hopes that she'd run home screaming after a week. Well, they'd just see about that. When people looked at her, they saw beauty, naiveté, blonde innocence, but with this opportunity, she'd show them that just underneath the surface lived fierce dedication coupled with a starkly undeniable genius.

The room was sparse, clinical, and Harleen sat rigid in her chair, pen tapping nervously against her notebook as she waited for them to bring him in. Her eyes flicked nervously to the clock, leg twitching rhythmically, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the door swung open, two guards half carrying in a gaunt figure, pale white skin and bright green hair creating a disquieting contrast in the harsh fluorescent lighting. His head was turned, gazing up at the burly guard on his right arm, speaking rapidly in a low voice while the guard scowled, and sweated, and stared straight ahead. Harleen uncrossed her legs, smoothing her skirt as the Joker's gaze shifted to her, eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise, and then it was gone, replaced with a slightly manic but also sincere-looking grin. _Probably shocking for him to find someone like me here,_ Harleen thought, with only a touch of bitterness. She gave her head a little shake, to focus, and put her attention on the man before her.

He was bound quite completely in a tightly wrapped straight jacket, simple white patient trousers, bare feet. The guards sat him down on the little metal chair bolted to the floor, securing the straps with practiced efficiency. The Joker let them, silent, having not taken his eyes off of her. The intensity of his gaze, the focus, was extremely unnerving, and Harleen quickly looked down, fiddling with her papers. She'd brought little snippet annotations of the notes taken by the Joker's previous psychologists. It was very disjointed stuff, hopping around from tragedy to tragedy. Clearly part of the Joker's psychopathy was making up these theatrical stories, but the why of it was still unclear. Trauma was the only consistent theme- was he truly changed from some trauma, or is he mocking others who are? The guard's voice broke her out of her thoughts with a start.

"Ma'am. Prisoner secured." He gave her a little nod and both men took up a parade rest on either side of the Joker, staring forward blankly but obviously crowding the thinner man with their bulk. Harleen raised an eyebrow at the lead guard.

"The two of you may wait outside, thank you." She said it clearly and with an authoritative edge to her voice that visibly startled the older guard. He hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing down at the Joker, who did not look up.

"Ma'am" he said again, nodding gravely to her before exiting the room, with the other guard close behind. Harleen watched the door shut and lock with an air of finality, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that she was locked in a small metal room with an insane sadist. Her mouth went dry, but she fought the urge to swallow, not wanting the Joker to see her discomfort. She looked up from her notes, eyes connecting almost instantly, glinting green eyes sending a jolt through her. He gave a lopsided grin at that, and began to speak.

"My, my, my, my, my..." He was shaking his head, " _What_ did they send me this time? I don't remember being such a good boy." He eyed her up and down shamelessly, raising his eyebrows at her in a suggestive taunt. "Harleen Quinzel." He read aloud, keen eyes noting her ID badge even at this distance. Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of her own name. She caught a moment of drifting distance in the Joker's face, a slackness, before he abruptly snapped back. " _Harleen._ " He drew out the word, tasting it. "What kind of name is Harleen, anyway?" he asked, leaning forward in anticipation. Harleen could hear the leather straps creaking.

"Dr. Quinzel is a bit more appropriate, don't you think? Your sessions are a time for us to talk about you, not me, Mr. Joker." She almost blanched as the sounds left her mouth. _Mr. Joker?_ They had taught her to be polite and professional with your patients in school, but they hadn't really covered the potential for insane drifters with mononyms. She was struggling to keep her face blank, but the Joker had clearly noticed, as his grin split even wider, eyes closing in a sort of rapture before he threw his head back and laughed. It was dry, brittle, like broken glass, and it came shaking out of his body in little ebbs and flows that he allowed to pass through him with a childish abandon. Watching him, she almost felt a pang of jealousy, as she tried to remember the last time she'd honestly laughed aloud at anything.

When he'd lowered his head again, there were tears in the crinkling corners of his eyes. "No need to be so formal, Dr. Quinzel." He said once he'd gotten himself back under control, putting the slightest inflection on her title, mocking. "Joker will suffice, but my friends call me J." He gave a little wink, gaze searching for hers, demanding, while her own darted away, looking for any excuse not to meet. She heard him giggle again, and tried to steel herself. If she was going to make it in Arkham, she needed to be in control and make some semblance of progress with this man. Her eyes roamed, searching for a thread to pull.

"I like your tattoos." she said, "How long have you had them?" She asked it innocently, almost shy, face blank, but he immediately understood the implications. Truthful information about his tattoos could give them some sort of timeline on him, which was more than anyone had ever gotten out of the man. He was eyeing her suspiciously, but broke into a wide grin and a slow chuckle, head shaking back and forth. "That ones easy," she continued, pointing at the little J beneath his left eye, "It's your name. Is that the oldest one?" He had gone slack, reclining a little in the uncomfortable chair, but suddenly snapped forward towards her. A little gasp escaped her lips, and she drew her arm back sharply, fingers going to her mouth. The leather straps creaked sharply as he strained at them, inching forwards, and Harleen almost pressed the little wireless button she had to summon the guards, but the Joker was laughing quietly in a disarming and uniquely unsettling sort of way. Her fingers danced over the button and then fell away as he spoke.

"How about we play a little game, pretty bird." he cooed at her, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine." His smile slashed wolfishly across his face, eyes dancing as he swayed back and forth in place like some charmed cobra. Harleen swallowed, knowing it was against policy to share personal information with patients, but she had to play this man's game if she wanted to get somewhere with him. Every psychologist in the past had followed the rules to the T, and pulled nothing from the Joker but lengthy diatribes on a plethora of subjects, each more insincere than the last. Jaw working nervously, Harleen gave a curt little nod, accepting the Joker's terms. "Great!" he barked, making her jump a little at the sudden noise, "Now," he continued more softly, "How did you get such an odd and lovely name as Harleen." He proceeded to stare intensely once more, like some great caged beast at the zoo.

She cleared her throat, swiping a bit of loose hair back behind an ear, before beginning, "My father wanted me to be a boy. He wanted to name me Harley, you know, like the motorcycles. Still did, when I came out a girl, but my momma insisted I have a more respectable name, in case I ever made something of myself. So they changed it to Harleen." The Joker was grinning excitedly, and she shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she'd given too much away in her simple explanation. He didn't react, didn't ask her any more, and was silent for a long moment before responding.

"This one was my first." He said gravely, eyes pointing exaggeratedly to the right, in the absence of hands, to where a tiny star decorated his right temple. "Because I always knew that I would be a _star_." He spoke with a dramatic, theatrical tone, "And do great things." His voice dropped at that, to something low and sinister that made Harleen squirm in her seat. She met his eyes then, deep and fathomless, and she wanted to unravel all his secrets, for her career, for her mother, she thought to herself, but beneath that was some level of fascination with the man. He was, after all, completely unique, a veritable genius in his own way, and she wanted to worm her way inside and see all there was to see from such a cracked and damaged psyche. Her eyes flicked to the "damaged" tattoo at the top of his head, something he easily noticed, and he crossed his eyes in a goofy attempt to look at his own facial tattoo. She giggled then, a quiet, girlish sound that escaped before thought, and the Joker looked immensely pleased by it.

Harleen almost peed herself when the door clanked open, harsh metal edges scraping noisily against the rough concrete, as the two guards made their way back inside. Her eyes flicked to the caged clock on the wall, startled that the time had passed so quickly without her noticing. Usually she counted down the minutes in a session, but this one had passed without her checking even once. The guards were unstrapping the Joker and hoisting him up, pliant, towards the door.

She managed to compose herself, flustered, just as they were at the door. "Same time next week, Mr. Joker?" she asked, in bold reference to her earlier stumble. He began to cackle, the guards half-dragging him out, and she heard him call out from the hallway, sing-song voice bouncing and echoing off the cold walls.

" _Bye-bye Harley._ "


	2. Flashbulb Memories

That night, Harleen had that dream again. The same nightmare she'd had for years, but it wasn't exactly a nightmare, because she was pretty sure it was a memory. She was a little girl again, in her cramped bedroom that hadn't seemed so cramped at the time. She could hear muffled voices from the hall, the thumping of her father's shoes on the carpet, her mother's sharply disapproving tone. The door creaked, a sliver of light cutting open the room, and she saw the figure of her father in the doorway, mom hanging just behind, gone silent. He strode over to her bedside, kneeling on the carpet and smelling strongly of booze.

Little Harleen woke sleepily, her current self observing the scene as if from above. "Hey puddin', sorry I woke you," came her father's gravelly baritone, rough hand brushing golden locks out of her face. "I got you somthin'," he mumbled, pulling out a little stuffed animal from behind his back. It was a soft little toy cat, plastic whiskers springing crazily out from its face. Her father placed it in her opened arms, and she snuggled into it, the large cat only a little smaller than the small girl. He looked down at her with an unbridled admiration, as if he could hardly believe she existed at all.

After she'd squeezed the thing sufficiently, she peered up at her father with large eyes. "Thanks, Daddy." Her voice rang like a little bell. Her father was tearing up, leaning in for a sloppy kiss to the forehead in an attempt to hide it. The dream crumbled and faded, leaving behind an empty feeling, with just the edge of panic. It would be the last time she ever saw her father. She woke in her bed moments later, thick tendrils of sleep dragging at her, begging her to come back to bed, but it was almost morning and she might as well get ready for work.

When she arrived at the asylum, looking only slightly rumpled and sleep-worn, there was a note on her desk saying her supervisor wanted to see her immediately. Dr. Leland was a stern, no-nonsense sort of woman, as the head psychiatrist of Arkham needed to be. Older, only evidenced by some slight wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, her dark hair was cut short and severe just above the jawline. She looked up from her computer as Harleen entered the office. "Ah, Harleen." She began, "You got my message. I was just reviewing your Joker tapes from yesterday." Harleen felt her stomach clench at the mention of it. _Obviously_ the tapes were reviewed daily, she should have seen this coming, but the dream had left her feeling fuzzy and distant. She tried to reign in the sensation now.

"Of course, you know why I've called you in. Sharing personal information of any kind with high risk patients is expressly forbidden." Dr. Leland pursed her lips, looking disapprovingly at Harleen as she fidgeted in place. Her mind was racing with explanations, apologies, to beg to keep her position, but the doctor seemed distracted, reading something on her computer. She continued after a pause, "I expect it won't happen again." Harleen waited. Was that really all? Unsure if she was supposed to leave now, she hoped that Leland might comment on the tattoo information she'd bought with her personal story. After a moment of looking at her computer, Dr. Leland glanced up again and said absently, "You may go." Harleen stood and exited the room, heart pounding, feeling a slight edge of frustration at the situation. The Joker had never commented on his tattoos before. Harleen chewed her lip as she thought it over, annoyed at her superior's callous nature, but eventually managed to redirect the feeling into more motivation, to get some concrete piece of information that would impress everyone, and finally get her the recognition she so deserved.

The week went by in a blur. Harleen treated a few other patients, low risk ones, as the rotation worked so any psychologist only worked with one high risk patient at a time, besides Dr. Leland. It seemed like no time at all had passed before she was sitting in the interview room again, notes in hand, waiting for the guards to bring him in. When the door opened, she didn't jump as high as last time, and smiled quietly to herself. The Joker was smiling slyly again, whispering something to the head guard. The guard was red in the face, veins popping in his neck and temples, staring straight ahead at nothing as they carried the prisoner in. Putting a hand on his shoulder, the guard shoved the clown down roughly into his seat, and began strapping him in. The Joker started giggling riotously at that, eyes taking in the guard's frustration like a fine wine, before flicking to Harleen's and grinning. He gazed up at the guard lovingly just as he was straightening up. "Gotta watch that blood pressure, big guy." The guard's jaw worked furiously as he turned to Harleen, who gave him a curt little nod. He looked relieved to go, and the two exited the room, leaving her alone with the Joker.

"Are you bothering the nice guard?" Harleen asked, smiling a little at the Joker. She'd spent the last few weeks studying all of the case studies done on the man, each one more clinical and stuffy than the last, and decided that a more humourous approach might produce different results. Hell, maybe that was why they'd given the Joker to her in the first place. The Joker got a contrite look on his face at that, staring at the floor like a scolded little boy. He looked up at her after a moment, smile cracking his face, but said nothing, wiggling a little in his seat. When she realized he wasn't going to speak on the matter, she decided it wasn't important enough to pursue, and leaned back in the chair a little while he looked at her. She tried a different tactic after a bit of silence, "We talked about your tattoos last time. Did you do them yourself?" The Joker was looking all around the sparse room, although there was really nothing interesting about it, and she began to wonder if he'd heard her.

"How old are you, Doc?" He asked suddenly, pinning her with a stare. She shifted uncomfortably, remembering Dr. Leland's words.

"You know that question isn't appropriate, Joker." She tried very hard to sound stern.

"Oooh, _Joker_ ," he teased, "Now I know I'm in trouble. Relax, Doc. It's just you and me in here." She tensed then, something in the tone of his voice made her uneasy... "Do you have any tattoos?" His voice was high, mocking, but she took the opportunity, as it was an easily answered question.

"No, I don't." she said.

"Why not?"

"I was afraid they would hurt. And I could never think of what to get." she answered instinctively.

He just tsk'd at her, shaking his head, a pitying look on his face. "You don't like a little pain? Never been hurt before?" Harleen bristled at the condescension, face flushing a little, but said nothing. Of course, he noticed, cracking a knowing smile before giving a little, " _Oh?_ " She was absorbed in memory, distracted. "Pain is the great equalizer, _the cleansing fire._ " he intoned, and she felt a little mesmerized as the words blended with her memory. Upon seeing her reaction- the slack expression, the heavy eyes, he sang a little, "Naughty, naughty. But I'll let you keep your secrets for now, little Harley." She was leaning forward, and had reached a hand out towards him without even realizing. Looking down at it, she pulled it back as if she'd been burned, breathing fast. The Joker just laughed, and she clutched her notebook, scowling and scribbling something in her notes so she wouldn't have to look at him. She underlined and traced the words " _MASTER MANIPULATOR_ ", thinking about how much of a fool she was while he laughed and laughed, apparently endlessly amused by her consternation. She didn't trust herself to talk, her heart was pounding so fast, it felt like the room was closing in on her, so she simply focused on tracing the letters over and over. The rest of the time ticked away in relative silence, broken only by his giggles, until the guards came in to take him.

When she got home that night, she pressed her forehead to the cool wood of her front door, letting out a frustrated groan. _What the fuck was that?!_ she scolded herself, _Dr. Leland is going to call me in again. God, what if I get fired? I can't do this..._ She dropped her briefcase and it broke open, spilling papers and pens across the dirty floor. Harleen didn't notice, simply walked to the bathroom in a mounting daze, kicking off her high heels as she went. She opened her makeup kit with shaking hands, digging to the bottom of the thing, searching.

It had been so many years since Harleen had cut, but she slid her stockings down, skirt hiked up, and sliced the little razor blade across her skin with a practiced familiarity. Red blood welled up and spilled over pale skin, little white scars criss-crossing her inner thighs on both sides, throwing her head back in ecstasy as the stress and panic ebbed away, and blood dripped down to splash the white porcelain of her bathroom floor.


	3. Slip Knot

The morning was hazy and passed in a blur, a delicious little sting jolting Harleen now and again from where her stockings pressed against the cuts, or any time her thighs brushed a certain way. The pain helped to focus her against the mounting dread as she neared the Asylum. As expected, the little note in Dr. Leland's cramped handwriting lay heavy on her desk. Harleen snatched it up, annoyed and nervous, crumpling it before making her way to the office.

She was trembling as she opened the door. Dr. Leland was at her computer much the same as she had been the week before, looking equally distracted and distinctly overworked now as well. She looked up when Harleen entered, confused for a moment as if she'd forgotten that she'd summoned the woman, but understanding quickly returned and she gave a curt, "Have a seat, please." Harleen waited patiently while the doctor typed furiously for a few minutes, sweating and trying to think of excuses for her unprofessional behaviour.

After she finished typing with a triumphant press of the enter key, Dr. Leland gave a sigh and took off her glasses, leaning back in the chair and looking completely drained. She was unfocused for a moment before fixing Harleen in her steely gaze. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Harleen was ready to burst out with excuses, but then Dr. Leland spoke. "I didn't want to have to see you again so soon." she said, "I was just reviewing the tapes." Harleen felt like she was going to jump out of her skin, "I really don't understand this. Is it some sort of new strategy of yours?" Harleen's mind was racing. Maybe she could play it off as if she'd done it on purpose. As if he hadn't drudged up painful memories- as if she hadn't been excited by it.

"Y-Yes." she lied, "I-I thought a new approach might help break the gridlock." Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she tried to sigh inconspicuously to calm herself down.

"I just don't see how _not_ talking is going to accomplish anything. You know he's been completely silent for weeks for past doctors." Dr. Leland was cleaning her glasses with a small cloth, and missed the shocked expression that crossed Harleen's face. Her stumbling mind tried to keep up with the farce.

"I-I-I..." she began, and then cleared her throat, cursing the stutter. "I thought it would be better if..." she groped for an explanation. Dr. Leland thought _nothing at all_ had happened in their last session? "...if he opened up to me in his own time, in his own ways, it might work better." she quickly supplied, gaining momentum, "Everyone is always trying to draw answers out of him. What if someone just waited for whatever answers he wanted to give? His ego and narcissism won't truly be able to abide silence forever. The reason he was silent those other times was to spite, or as a joke." Dr. Leland had replaced her glasses and was looking mildly surprised at Harleen.

"That's... Very insightful, Dr. Quinzel." she commended, and Harleen felt herself brighten at the praise. "I'll allow it for now, we don't really have much to lose-" Dr. Leland was cut off as a large man stomped into the office, red faced and shaking. He shut the door with a slam and marched up to the desk. Harleen instinctively shrank back a little from his anger, but Dr. Leland straightened towards it, putting on an unflinching mask. Harleen recognized the man after a moment as the senior guard that helped transport the Joker from holding to treatment.

"I can't take it, Joan." the man began desperately, "I want a transfer." He spared Harleen a glance, but then turned back to the small woman with pleading eyes.

"Miller, please." Dr. Leland looked angry, "I'm in the middle of something here." She shot Harleen an apologetic look.

"No." Miller insisted, "No, this can't wait. I can't take it anymore. I want a transfer. The sick fuck sent me a _dead cat_ in the mail. To my _house,_ Joan." His eyes were a little too wide as they stared imploringly at Dr. Leland.

"I read your email, John, there's no way to verify who sent-" Leland began.

"I know who sent it, Joan! Don't give me that crap! He's been at me for weeks, and I'm _done._ " Miller had crossed his arms and was staring sullenly into space, jaw clenching and unclenching so hard Harleen could see the little muscle pop.

Dr. Leland looked the man once over before sighing and pulling a form from somewhere in her desk. She started filling it in, and spoke without looking up. "Someone's got to transport him, John." Miller didn't reply, only snatched the form from Dr. Leland as soon as she held it out and stormed from the room. The older woman only shook her head, turning tired eyes back to Harleen. "Sorry about that Dr. Quinzel. It's quite common. We put the guards on rotation, but not everyone can handle the Joker, and the rotation pool gets smaller every week." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I hope your new strategy gives us something of use soon. You may go." Harleen got up shakily, hurrying from the room. In all the excitement with Miller, she'd almost forgotten the strange turn of events in her conversation with Dr. Leland.

Her boss seemed to think that in her last session with the Joker, nothing had been talked about, no interaction at all had occurred. How could that be? Her head began to ache, and she tried to put the questions out of her mind until their next session, when she'd meet with him.

Later that week, the Joker was led in and strapped in place while Harleen watched. The new guard was younger, small when compared to Miller, and looked perfectly terrified to be there. Harleen couldn't help feeling sorry for him, and dismissed the guards as soon as she could. The Joker was grinning even wider than usual, bouncing in place as if he were trying to contain himself, with great difficulty.

"Why don't you let me in on the joke?" Harleen asked mildly, which set him laughing wildly for a good while. When he'd quieted to mere giggles, she continued, "I've actually heard two of your jokes lately." The Joker looked up, interested.

"What did you think of them?" he asked.

"Which one should we talk about first?" She'd had all week to think about this. "How you're somehow interfering with the cameras during our sessions, or how you rid yourself of that guard?"

"I didn't mean to scare him off." the Joker said innocently, "It was just a gag."

"You sent a dead cat to his house, Joker." Harleen felt disconnected from herself, but it was helping keep her voice even.

" _Dead?_ " he gasped with mock horror, "I told those idiots to poke holes in it, so it could breathe!" His laughter bubbled up and escaped at that. Harleen said nothing, watching, but flicked her eyes up to where the security camera blinked down at them, then back to the Joker. He was looking at her, laughter died away from his face.

"Are they recording? Will someone review this?" She asked plainly, gaze drawn back subconsciously to the robotic eye.

"I want to keep our little chats private." The Joker said, "Who could relax with little strangers watching their every move?" He smiled sweetly at her, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her back. His eyes flashed at that, and she felt a horrible certainty that he could easily tell what she was feeling at any moment. She wrestled with the fear, settling for the cold weightlessness she'd achieved through the razor last week. The Joker looked curiously at her.

"I don't understand." she continued, "I've seen dozens of tapes with you and other psychiatrists. You didn't have a problem with privacy then."

He raised his eyebrows, surprised, then looked away as if shy. "Those others didn't have your potential, Harley. I feel like I might be able to really open up to you." He sounded so serious, Harleen let out a shaky laugh. _He's clearly manipulating me,_ she thought blithely. _It's a tactic. But... this behaviour is different from everything we know about him. He doesn't form attachments, he is incapable. He has no empathy. But I need this,_ she reasoned, _I have to at least try to pull this thread. This could be my big breakthrough._

"Well..." Harleen said cautiously, "I'm glad you're able to feel more comfortable." He grinned triumphantly and barked out a laugh. Then, he began to speak. Slowly at first, just hinting at things, and then more fully, explaining little details of his motivations, his passions. About pain. About control, and surrender. Harleen was helplessly enthralled, pen held loosely in her hand, the notion to record any of it swept away by the unceasing cadence of his voice.

It was late when she got home that night. Harleen wasn't entirely sure where the hours had gone, she couldn't _exactly_ remember, but she was glad to be home at last. She locked the door behind her, heading straight for the bedroom, slipping out of clothing along the way. She let out a little squeak of fright when she turned on the light and saw the flowers in an ornate vase on her vanity. The blooms were white and hung like little bells. After a moment's hesitation, she reached for the card, but there was no name, only a little blurb about the flowers, which were apparently called Daturas. Harleen was shaking, and searched all around the tiny apartment in her underwear, her father's Louisville slugger in hand, before finally falling into a restless sleep, every light in the house blazing brightly.


	4. Show and Tell

Harleen woke with a start, bright morning light filtering in past her dusty curtains, the TV loud before her where she lay on the couch. She'd fallen asleep there, bat in hand, after another restless scan of the house, having turned the TV on in an attempt to soothe herself. Colourful cartoons were playing, and she watched for a moment, blinking sleepily as a cartoon mouse gleefully pummelled a cartoon cat into the ground with a giant mallet. Harleen smiled humourlessly and stood up, letting the bat slip from her fingers and roll across the floor. It drew her attention- she noticed dully how messy the apartment was, clothing strewn about, dishes piled high in the sink. She left the TV blaring while she went about getting ready for work.

The Joker, of course, consumed her thoughts. She went through the week in a daze, mechanical and distant, although nobody seemed to notice. The man's words rang in her head, twisting her about like a hanged man in the breeze, and after only a single session. So many of the things he'd said struck her to the core, as if he were a virtuoso and she the instrument, he gave voice to things that had been boiling under her surface for years. About the seeming futility of life. Working hard- working and never living. The great crush of humanity all around, seven billion bodies climbing over one another, stepping on the faces of those around them to stand for a fleeting moment at the top, only to fall. Not only that, but the visceral experience of pain. The freedom of it, the ways it can shape a person. They'd only scratched the surface of it in their short hour, but Harleen had imagined a dozen more conversations like it in the following days, mostly involving her gushing about her life, but she did her best to lock up those thoughts upon entering the Asylum.

She had been at the razor pretty hard too, since hearing him, seeing his eyes when he spoke of pain, almost like he could recognize something in her. Harleen's thighs were a mess of thin cuts, she'd covered from the knee up to her groin, on the inside, dozens and dozens of little bleeding wounds, to the point where she just gauzed and wrapped the entirety of her thighs every morning, and thus been forced to stop wearing hose, but again, no one seemed to notice any difference in her. Striding brusquely into the Asylum, her heart sped uncomfortably because today was the day. The morning went by at a crawl as she filed reports and replied to emails. The anticipation was too strong- she realized with a start how the Joker might look at her if she came in like this, so eager, and she thought again of the razor. She'd put one in her purse, but hadn't ever used it at work before... After a moment's indecision, she made for the bathroom, purse held anxiously over one shoulder.

Harleen locked the bathroom stall, thankful the room seemed to be empty. She sat on the toilet, digging in her purse for the little container that held the razor. She brought it into the harsh fluorescent light, holding the thin razor up to glint as she turned it back and forth. Hiking her skirt, she surveyed her wrapped thighs, little dots of blood staining through the gauze at some of the newer areas. She was lucky to be wearing skirts at all right now- the bandage might've peeked out if she wasn't so careful about her movements and posture. Some of her shorter skirts weren't even an option anymore. She looked down at her chest, modestly covered by the psychiatrist's jacket. Harleen started undoing buttons, her blouse underneath was much lower-cut, but she always wore the jacket anyway, right? It was required. She pulled down her blouse a little just to be safe, picking up the razor in trembling hands before slicing it across the top of one breast, hissing at the sharp pain, watching the blood, waiting for the numbness to wash over her. When nothing happened, she sliced again- still nothing. Another, and another, and she started to feel a little better, a little more in control. The pain was throbbing, centring her, forcing her out of her mind and into the present moment. She breathed deeply, grabbing some toilet paper to dab at the blood as it spilled a little faster than anticipated. The world pulsed and spun while she savoured the pain, before noticing the time on her cellphone. It was almost time. She slapped a temporary bandage over the cuts and left, feeling focused but a little drained.

They brought him in like always, one guard at each shoulder, straight jacket wrapped tight. He seemed taller somehow, today, but it was just Miller's absence. The large man had been even taller than the Joker, and Harleen wondered how he was doing- she hadn't seen him around the Asylum lately, but that didn't necessarily mean anything with how spaced out she'd been. Her cuts stung fiercely, and she squeezed her thighs periodically to invisibly spike the pain and help her focus. Seeing him there, his pale skin, the sharp light of his eyes, was making her skin crawl, but she didn't entirely dislike the feeling. That was the problem. At least, she thought, being here, she felt alive, which was a hell of a lot better than how she felt at home. At home, she didn't feel depressed exactly, she just felt like she was waiting for something. Bored, directionless, uncertain. Finally, something was making her come alive. _This is the case that's going to make my career,_ she rationalized. _I'm just committed to my work._

The guards left quietly, but the Joker didn't start speaking. Harleen's eyes flicked to the cameras and back.

"No need to fret, _Harls_ , it's just us again." he said, smiling at her nervousness.

She twitched at the new nickname, but didn't take the bait. "I got your present." Her voice was low, but even.

"Ah, my present." He got a dreamy look on his face, an exaggerated star-struck lover. "Did you like them?"

The delicate white bell flowers had been quite beautiful. She'd googled them, Daturas, later in the week, once she'd calmed down. There were two kinds of Daturas, and she could guess which one he'd sent. Devil's trumpets- a flower native to North America, poisonous, causing delusions, amnesia, and violent behaviour in low doses- death in higher ones. She'd eyed them all week after first moving the vase to her dining room, a place where she spent very little time. They stood out amongst the dingy clutter, giving her a little jolt of fear every day when she came home from work.

"They were very pretty." she hazarded, "How did you get them in my house?" Harleen leaned forward, resting her elbows on the small metal table.

The Joker simply clucked disapprovingly at her, shaking his head, no intention of answering. Then he suddenly focused, looking at a spot on her wrist. "My, my, Doc. What happened there?" He raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly at a spot on the cuff of her jacket, a perfect little red dot of blood. Harleen felt her skin go cold, it must have dropped somehow in the bathroom, she thought frantically.

"Oh, this?" she tried desperately to sound casual. "Oh, I had a nose bleed on the way out the door this morning." she lied.

"This morning? That blood looks pretty fresh." He was grinning now, and Harleen felt her face flush even as she begged it not to. The blood was bright red and obviously very fresh.

"Y-Yeah." she stammered, "Did I say this morning? I meant just now. It happened just before our appointment."

"I don't see any dried blood around your nose." he purred, soaking up her discomfort with a smug satisfaction.

"I-I-I cleaned up, okay!" Her voice rose a little more than she intended, fear making her old lilting accent more pronounced, the accent she'd worked so hard to remove during her university days. "I ain't a liar. I just cleaned up before I came over, that's all." She hid the offending sleeve beneath the table, clutching at it as if she could make the stain disappear. She squirmed uncomfortably, unable to look at him.

"Harley." He called. She _couldn't_ look. "Harley." A little harsher. She looked up, biting her lip, another old habit. He held her gaze for a minute before saying quietly, "Where did the blood come from?" Harley could hear the blood pulsing in her ears, but felt her hands rising as if of their own accord. She started unbuttoning her blouse. _What are you doing?_ a part of her thought distantly. _He needs to see._ Another part, a stronger part, countered. _We need to show him._

The bandage was already coming undone, hastily placed, the blood making it slippery. She drew back the bandage to reveal the cuts, made sloppy and a little jagged by her nervous haste, face turned to one side. Harleen seemed to come back to her body then, floating down from far away, exposed before the Joker and wondering how she could've gotten here. _So stupid,_ she scolded, face red, and turned her head slowly to look at him.

He leaned forward, as close to her as he could be with the restraints, head lowered, eyes heavy lidded. His mouth was slack, little panting breaths the only movement to his body. Slowly, so slowly, his eyes moved up from her breast, to her throat, to her eyes, and she shuddered in place at the dark heat she found there, breaking eye contact after only a moment. She bit her lip harshly, pressing the bandage back down and fumbling to button up her jacket once more. When he spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Are there more?" He asked evenly, almost conversationally, and when she looked again he gave her a rakish grin, so full of good cheer Harleen felt her own lips twitching upwards at the sight of it. She couldn't bear to show the other ones, though, and started shaking her head "no" without speaking as her face blushed dark again. She just kept shaking her head over and over, staring at the floor while the Joker gave her a sceptical look, obviously not buying it.

"Show me." he whispered, and Harleen seriously considered using the panic button, but worried they might take her off the case if she made even a slight misstep. Instead, she tried to pretend she didn't hear, staring at the wall, rocking in her seat, wishing that the time would go by faster.

"Harley." He growled, and she felt her face turn inexorably towards him, eyes locked as if she were in a trap. "Show me." he said.

She stood slowly, fighting it, body tense and jerking, eyes still locked with his electric green ones. The more she screamed inside, the more a feeling of emptiness flooded her, taking her away again, so she could just watch everything that was happening. It wasn't happening to _her._ She lifted the skirt, inching it up slowly, the sheer fabric already tight against her skin. She bunched it up until it was around her hips, black lace underwear showing, but he wasn't looking at it. His eyes were roaming up and down her bandaged thighs, noting the little trail of blood along the inside, some brown and old, some bright and fresh. Harley had her face turned to the side again, eyes closed, trembling. He enjoyed the sight a moment, leaning back against his seat with a sigh of satisfaction, before speaking. "You may sit, Harley." he said softly, and the spell was broken. She hastily smoothed down her skirt, feeling like she might throw up.

He let her calm down for a few minutes, breathing heavily where she sat and refusing to look at him. "Naughty, naughty." he chided, breaking the silence. "Why would you do such a thing, Harls? I thought you were afraid of pain." The smile was back, just the barest quirk of lip on one side.

"I..." Her brain felt fried, and she started babbling. "It... It's nothing, really, it was an accident, I swear, Mr. Joker please, you can't tell anyone about this..."

"Call me J." He interrupted, grinning.

"P-p-please," she was shaking now, thinking about what could happen next. If he told someone, they could easily verify the story by checking her. Would they do that? He did have a way of getting people to do what he wanted. She felt her stomach twist at the thought. "Mr. J _please_ , it's nothing, it's just an accident, I didn't mean to, you can't tell anyone..." Her words were picking up speed, tripping over one another, but he just smiled, shaking his head.

"It's okay, Harley. It's okay." He soothed, "We trust each other, don't we? There must be trust between doctor and patient, don't you think?" She had fallen silent, and nodded numbly at him, mouth hanging open with unsaid words. His eyes flicked up to the clock, and hers followed. The guards would be here any minute. Harley jumped when the door began unlocking, straightening her posture into something more professional, smoothing her clothing and hair anxiously just as the door swung open. She noticed with an explosion of panic that one of her coat buttons wasn't done up, but there was nothing she could do other than sit there, hiding the bloody cuff while the two guards unlocked the Joker and hoisted him up. He gave her a wink while the guards were busy with the locks, then launched into a dramatic and tasteless story to distract the two men, so they wouldn't notice Harley's rumpled clothing, her deer-in-the-headlights expression. He captured their attention, even getting a little snicker from the new guy when arriving at the punch line- that earned a sharp glance from the older guard. The younger one just shrugged. The Joker looked over his shoulder at Harley as he was leaving, blowing her a kiss before he disappeared from sight.

The tension left her body as soon as the door closed behind them, limbs drooping like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Harleen lay her head on the cool metal of the table, wondering with a detached panic what she was going to do now.


	5. Trust Issues

Harleen wasn't sleeping.

She'd taken two sick days to try and get her head straight, but it hadn't really helped. Nothing she did seemed to take her thoughts away from the Joker and what had passed between them last session. The memories assaulted her with vivid detail, nearly inciting a panic attack at the most inconvenient times, especially when she lay down to attempt sleep. Alcohol helped, but only a little, maybe even making it worse at times. Alcohol made her honest. It made her yearn to go back to Arkham and speak to him again. A foreboding sense of dread was creeping into Harleen every moment she spent away from the Asylum. Everything she'd worked for was slipping through her fingers- Dr. Leland would be at her with questions again soon enough, and she had no way of telling what the Joker would do with the knowledge of her cutting. She'd stopped, at least, throwing out her razors and the blood stained jacket, like a child trying to hide soiled bedsheets. She couldn't deal with this.

She went for a walk to try and clear her head. It was dark and cool and silent outside, Harleen walking carefully beneath the streetlights, wary and alert, but feeling refreshed and alive to be out at night. It was dangerous, she knew, but she'd grown up in bad areas and learned how to be aware of her surroundings. At one point during her walk, a drunk had stumbled out of an alleyway, startling her. He'd clutched at her with grimy gloved hands, slurring something unintelligible, and Harleen had just reacted. Brooklyn accent thick from her fright and indignation, she'd swore and yelled at the man, who'd blanched, obviously not expecting such a reaction from a little thing like her, and backed off, mumbling an apology. Harleen had headed straight home after that, shaken and suprised at herself. Usually she would have just stammered an apology, or shoved a few dollars into the bum's hands to get away without causing a scene. Tonight, though, she'd just reacted, and all her frustration and anger had flowed out. She felt _better._ Was this freedom? Harleen felt sick and drained after the outburst, true, but the anxiety was at a lower level than it had been in weeks. Alone in her little apartment, she put on her favourite cartoon and wrapped herself in a giant blanket, resolutely denying the severity of her situation with childish good cheer. She laughed, cried, and went to sleep for the first time in two days.

The alarm clock came too quickly, but Harleen couldn't afford another sick day, not if she wanted any chance of making rent this month. Rousing herself, she got ready for work. The cuts were healing nicely, but she still chose a high necked blouse and longer-than-usual skirt, just to be safe. A fresh, stainless, white jacket completed the outfit. Harleen gave herself a silent pep talk in the mirror as she touched up her make-up. _You are a professional,_ she asserted, slipping the Arkham ID badge around her neck before heading out the door. _You can handle this._ Wilting Datura petals fell softly onto her kitchen table as she slammed the door shut.

The week passed quickly again. Dr. Leland had sent her an email asking to set up a meeting some time next week, to discuss progress on the Joker. Apparently she'd been busy with a rash of new patients, otherwise she would've requested it sooner. Harleen breathed a sigh of relief- she'd have another session with the Joker before then, and more time to figure out what to do. Her sleep was still broken, fragmented, plagued by nightmares that she forgot upon waking. Still, she managed to get through all her other responsibilities, until it was the day she'd see him again. The cuts were almost completely healed now, and she was glad to be done with full leg wraps- the constant bandaging had left her skin wrinkled as though from a long bath.

The paperwork in Harleen's office was spread around in haphazard piles, some already toppled over and trod on. She hadn't had the brain capacity to do much of anything lately, spacing out even during sessions and going home early every night. Harleen's mind was fuzzy and disjointed, hopping from memory to painful memory- most of her focus went into keeping herself away from sharp objects. It was Joker's appointment day, and she hadn't really come up with any sort of plan on how to keep herself from getting fired, or worse. It was mere hours before their appointment time, and in a last ditch effort to come up with a plan, she'd stuffed a little toy cat that she kept in her office into her pocket, with a plan to gift it to the Joker. Well, she couldn't _really_ give it to him, with the restraints and searches and all, but she thought she might be able to play dumb, innocent, a starry eyed girl in over her head, and the Joker would lose interest. Then Leland would speak to her about her lack of progress next week and she'd be able to give a big speech about how it was all too much, get transferred, hopefully even keep her job at the Asylum. Dr. Leland knew how difficult the Joker was, and she'd agreed to transfer Miller, so surely she would have mercy on poor little Harleen Quinzel.

Harleen was jittery, probably as much from the three coffees she'd had before noon as from the anticipation, waiting for the Joker. The room was the same as ever, grimy walls, flat metal table glinting dully in the fluorescent light, the harsh industrial edges of it all giving Harleen a headache. The door unlocked with a _shunk_ , but she didn't really jump from it, too preoccupied with thoughts and the tapping of her pen. When she did finally look up, she was suprised to see the Joker being led in by only a single guard- the young newbie who had replaced Miller. He must've noticed the look of concern on her face, because he started to explain as he tightened and checked all the straps.

"Sorry boss," he said, "The other guy called in sick and no one would cover for him, so it's just me today."

"Oh, I don't think they like me..." Joker piped in with a sad little sniffle.

The young guard gave him a look. "Leland said she'd hire more guys soon." he said apologetically to Harleen, straightening up. He gave a little nod, and another weird look at the Joker, who just smiled back, before exiting the room.

Now they were alone. Harleen was clutching the little toy cat in her pocket convulsively, her plan turning to ash in her throat, seeming so ridiculous now with this psychopath before her.

"You're looking well, Doc." The Joker said with a sly grin, taking in her disheveled appearance, the bags under her eyes. "Wait, wait, wait, don't tell me... New haircut? No, that's not it..." He made a show of thinking, but she ignored him, trying to shove down her anxiety and don the role of ditsy blonde like she had planned. Why was he even acting like this? So uncharacteristic, maybe she really was getting to him, on some level at least. Still, something needed to change between now and her meeting with Dr. Leland next week. The tinny voice of her mother buzzed in her memory, they'd spoken just the other day over the phone. She'd checked back into the hospital again. _God, how am I going to pay for it,_ Harleen's mind raced. _No. Focus._ She plastered a shy smile on her face, before realizing with a start that the Joker had been speaking, but had stopped. He was staring at her.

"Dr. Quinzel." he drawled, the formal sound of her proper name sending a chill down her spine. He didn't look happy at being tuned out, and she tried to focus on him now, to appease him. The fear brushed chill against her skin, and then his anger evaporated. "You know I live for these moments with you." He whispered, setting her heart thumping. It sounded so... sincere. Now was her chance. She dug in her pocket for the kitty.

"What have you got?" he asked playfully.

"I got you a kitty." She beamed at him, holding the gift out so he could see it. She waved a plush little paw at him.

He glanced at it and back to her, grinning. "So thoughtful." He spoke without missing a beat. Almost like he meant it. A blush crept into her face at that, and she pushed back a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The grin faded around the edges, replaced with a look of hunger. Harleen had a sudden urge to lean across the table, to close the distance between them, but she shook it off.

"There is something you could do for me, Doctor." he spoke calmly, evenly.

"Anything. I mean, yeah." She felt her stomach drop out at the slip, but the look in his eyes was making her feel far away again.

"I need a machine gun." he said, staring straight at her, no hint of a smile. Harleen began to grow nervous. He couldn't be serious... could he?

"... a machine gun?" she asked, uncertain, but he just began to laugh, soft and low, eyes closing as he leaned back in the seat. So it was a joke, then. Harleen gave a shaky little laugh, sighing with silent relief that he didn't really expect her to sneak a gun into the Asylum. Where would she even get one? The Joker was leaning forward then, rising- was he supposed to be able to...? Before she could register what was happening, the Joker had risen from his seat, bounding up onto the table that divided them and kicking forward viciously, taking Harleen square in the chest and toppling her over backwards to the floor. She spilled out of the chair, dazed, and he hopped down lightly, kicking the metal chair to one side with an echoing clatter. He was fast, too fast for her sleep deprived mind, and she felt the crushing weight of his bare foot on her chest, pinning her to the ground. The unfastened straps of his straight jacket dangled, brushing the floor as he stood over her, peering down with glinting eyes.

 _Where was the guard?_ her mind struggled to keep up, adrenaline flooding her system, making everything around her especially crisp and vibrant. The contrast between his pale skin and green hair was stark, shining plated teeth grinning down from on high. In a fumbling, desperate move she reached for the tiny wireless panic button clipped to her notes, which had fallen just inches away from her. Harleen's hand grasped the clipboard just as the Joker seized her wrist in a painfully tight grip, twisting it until she cried out and dropped the clipboard. Grabbing the other as well and pinning them to her chest, he leaned in close, digging his knee into her gut, causing her to choke out air in a painful gasp even as she struggled to regain control of her arms. He hardly seemed to notice her attempts to escape, exerting little effort to keep her arms pinned, instead his eyes roamed up and down her squirming form, looking wildly entertained by it. Harleen was making little panicked noises in the back of her throat, panting loudly more with fear than anything. Her eyes darted crazily around the room, looking for something that could save her. Not the panic button. Not the cameras. Why hadn't the guard heard the chair falling over, when he was just outside the door? Just outside the...

Harleen drew in a huge breath before letting a wrenching scream come tearing out of her throat. It reverberated painfully in the small tiled room, and she had hardly gotten a few seconds of it out before a terrible blow rocked her head to one side, spinning the world and making little star bursts appear across her vision. The dull smack of the slap cut her scream short, plunging the room into relative silence. The Joker waited patiently, face still close above her, while she regained her senses. He had pinned her right arm to one side, the other lay limp and forgotten as the world came to a standstill once more, and Harleen lay quiet, feeling small, a small tremor running through her entire body.

Satisfied now that she was focused on him again, the Joker grabbed her wrists once more, eliciting a little flinch from Harleen, which only made him chuckle. He pressed her arms to her chest, leaning in as if for a kiss, and Harleen felt her back involuntarily arching up to meet him. He drew back sharply, giggling to himself, letting go of one wrist to playfully slap her cheek a few times, so light it was painless, but the shock of it still made her flinch every time. "Harley, Harley, Harley..." he hummed, punctuating his words with the little slaps. "There must be trust between doctor and patient. We talked about this." Harleen's heart was racing, and she blushed as he laughed above her, her body suddenly painfully aware of how close he was, pinning her to the ground from above. She instinctively looked down, a habit of hers to stare at her feet when embarrassed, but all she saw now was his lithe form pressed against hers, skirt rumpled from the fall, one high heel off and slid across the floor. The Joker growled quietly then, hand that had rested against one cheek moving lightning-fast to grab her throat, wrenching her attention back to his face, demanding full eye contact so he could pour the promise of what he wanted to do to her directly into her soul. She whimpered as he raised his other hand, uncertain what he meant to do with it, but he merely lifted her ID badge from where it lay across her chest, turning the shiny laminated card back and forth in the light. "I wanted a picture of you." he said solemnly, "It gets so lonely at night, here in the Asylum." He yanked it from her neck in one sharp motion, the lanyard easily giving way.

They stared at each other a moment longer before J pursed his lips and gave a sharp whistle. The door creaked open, the young guard stepping quickly inside and closing the door behind him. The Joker had removed his knee from Harleen's gut, settling down to straddle her, comfortably pinning her with his weight. The guard looked a little manic, a little nervous, but walked over to stand beside the clown. He didn't call for help. He didn't press his panic button.

J held out the ID badge to him wordlessly, and the young man took it, pocketing the key even as his eyes darted up and down Harleen's prone body. She felt her face flushing dark with embarrassment- somehow it was so much worse to be seen vulnerable like this by someone other than the Joker. He gave her another little slap, hand releasing her throat where it had rested loosely until just a moment ago, drawing her attention back. "Now, Harley." he began, "I know you've been working very hard lately, so I want you to take the rest of the day off. Go home, relax, maybe paint your toenails." He giggled. "But I expect to see you back here first thing tomorrow morning." He looked stern, giving her a little finger wag. "And I trust that you'll keep the events of our session completely confidential." A pause. He straightened, releasing her, and held out a hand to her where she lay, offering to help her up. Harleen stared at it a moment, dumbstruck, before grasping it numbly and allowing herself to be pulled upwards. She wobbled a bit, unbalanced on one heel, and J gave a little jerk of the head for the young guard to retrieve her other shoe. She was fitting it on as the Joker continued speaking. "Joseph here will make sure you get home safe, won't you Joseph?" The guard nodded, and the Joker slapped Harleen on the back amiably, draping an arm around her shoulders as he led her to the door. "Why don't you wait in your office while Joey here puts me back in my cell?" Harleen felt like she was going to be sick.

The Joker turned to her then, face serious. "So sorry to hear about your mother checking back into the hospital." He said quietly, voice full of insinuation. "We're all hoping for her quick recovery." Harleen's world spun. How many men did the Joker have on his payroll? Her mind went back to the poisonous flowers left casually in her bedroom. "Be good now Harley." he continued, voice light again. "And I'll see you tomorrow." Remembering something suddenly, he moved towards her, hand fishing in her pocket for the toy cat. He took it, grinning mischievously at her as he tucked it away in one long sleeve of his straight jacket, then gave her a little push towards the door, even as the guard came over to re-fasten his restraints. She hesitated, looking back to him uncertainly, but he gave an encouraging little nod and she felt her feet moving tentatively forward.

Harleen walked slowly down the hall, smoothing her clothing, picking up her pace. She practically ran down the steps of the Asylum to get to her car. No way in hell would she wait for Joker's man to take her home. She sped through traffic, careless, surreal, until she was home. She wanted it to feel like a sanctuary, but it didn't. Every shadow was a paid goon waiting to jump her, and Harleen slid to the floor as soon as she shut her door, tears slipping out for the first time, until big, racking sobs shook her entire form. Everything was falling apart. How could she fix this? With trembling hands, she took out her cellphone and phoned Dr. Leland. She had to try and stop what was going to happen. Her ID badge had a little barcode that you swiped at various checkpoints in the Asylum to unlock doors. What the hell was Joker going to do with it? The phone rang twice before a mechanical voice informed her that Leland's cell was no longer in service. Another plot, she thought in despair, hand hovering over the direct number for the Asylum. The Joker's comment about her mother rang in her ears, and she hesitated a moment before giving up with another sob. She couldn't risk it. She pitched the cellphone across the room. Dazed and drifting, Harleen stumbled into her bedroom, falling on the bed fully clothed, kicking off her heels and falling into a restless sleep right there.

Awhile later her alarm woke her, blaring loudly in the dark room, but she silenced it quickly and rolled over, wrapping blankets tightly around her and drifting back to sleep. A light tapping brought her back again in what felt like moments, but must've been hours as the sun was shining brightly into her room. Tapping again, until she sat up and looked around sleepily, hair disheveled and glasses askew. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw the young guard at her door, tapping politely against the wood. "Hey boss." he said quietly. "We gotta get going, it's late." His hand rested heavily on the butt of the handgun all Asylum guards wore at the hip, but the gesture was largely unnecessary. Harleen's thoughts were consumed by her sick mother, and the Joker's glinting eyes, until she rose shakily from the bed and strode forward past the guard. She paused a moment in the bathroom mirror, straightening up and fixing her hair, cleaning away the tear streaked make up. She gazed at herself, eyes tired but resolute, before heading for the door, the guard silently escorting her at her back.


	6. Paraprosopia

Harleen's knuckles turned white as she clutched the steering wheel, her mind a furious whirlwind. Everything she'd worked for, everything she'd _done_ , it was all for nothing. She'd played right into that psychopath's hands. So _stupid_. A quick glance in her rear view mirror confirmed that the Joker's man was still following behind her in his shiny black Lincoln Town Car. As they neared the exit to Arkham, Harleen fantasized about flooring it and trying to lose the guy in traffic. Might as well drive it right off the road, the Joker was sure to have someone watching her mother. Alone, in the hospital, what would it take for her to have an accident? A phone call? Harleen just ground her teeth and turned down the lonely road to Arkham, foot grinding into the gas pedal as her beat up little hatchback sputtered along.

When they arrived, Joseph, the guard, stopped her on the way up the stone stairs leading into the Asylum. He looked nervous, eyes darting all over the place, checking his watch every few seconds.

"Boss man says you're supposed to wait in your office." He told her impatiently. "You're supposed to go straight there."

 _Wait for what?_ Harleen thought anxiously. "And where're you gonna be?" She glared up at the guard, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, I gotta go change, but then I'll be back." He seized her arm suddenly, roughly, wrenching her until she looked into his face. "You go straight to your office and stay there. It'll be me who gets fucked if anything happens to you." It was all Harleen could do to swallow and nod at him, the intense look of fear in his eyes unsettling her. He started nodding his head, blinking too rapidly, before remembering himself and striding off down the steps, back to his car. Harleen turned, sweating, and walked into the Asylum.

Each step was agony, her legs felt like lead but she forced herself down the lonely hallway, up to the check stop. _The check stop..._ Harleen realized with a sudden panic that she didn't have an ID badge. Joker had taken it yesterday. How was she going to get past? She felt feverish with fear, the sensation peaking painfully with a stab in her belly, but then it seemed to break. Everything around her went quiet, dissolving, or so it seemed. Harleen watched herself walk up to the guard point- the guard was a large black man, lazily flipping through a newspaper, but he set it aside at her approach. She was going to tell him everything, she realized. What was happening was bigger than her, bigger than her mom, and she needed to do something to try and stop it. She didn't think she'd be able to live with herself otherwise. Heart pounding, Harleen walked up to the guard, ducking her head low before beginning to speak in an urgent whisper.

"Listen," she said, "I need to report something. My ID badge has been stolen, and I have reason to believe one or more of the patients is planning an escape, today." The words tumbled out. "I have reason to believe the Joker is involved. You need to call someone down here right now, lock the whole Asylum down and start sweeping the place..." Harleen trailed off when she noticed the bored look the guard was giving her. She was confused, but a sickening understanding dawned as the guard reached over and pressed the manual override button behind his desk. The check point's metal door unlocked with a mechanical _clunk_. The guard simply leaned back in his seat, newspaper open once more.

"Straight to your office, now, Ms. Quinzel." He rumbled, feigning nonchalance, but Harleen had seen the sheen of sweat across his forehead. _So it was hopeless_ , she thought. She couldn't stop what was about to happen. Could she? Her trembling hands clutched at the cellphone in her pocket, and she fumbled with her keys when she arrived at her office door.

With a sigh, Harleen slumped down into her chair, eyes roaming across the sleek desk, papers strewn about. What was going to happen to her? The Joker was planning something, _obviously_ , and it was going to happen today. Why did he want her in her office for it? She thought about trying to bar the door, looking around at the sparse furnishings of the small office. She couldn't help staring at her cellphone as she imagined phoning the police, or even Dr. Leland. She could tell them her suspicions, about the missing I.D. badge... Harleen opened her contacts list, biting her cheek as she scrolled down to Joan Leland. Before she could press the name, however, an incoming call popped up on screen. Her heart sank almost instantly. Her mother's beaming face stared up at her, a sunny photo taken in happier times. She swiped to accept the call.

A male voice answered on the other end. "Hey, Harleen." Harleen felt her breath catch in her throat. It was her brother's voice.

"Why are you calling from Mom's phone?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm sorry Harleen. It... It happened suddenly, last night. The doctors say it was a heart attack. There wasn't anything anyone could do." His voice shook a little, but he sounded awkward. This was the first time they'd spoken in years. Harleen felt the sorrow, the desolation, rise up in her throat.

He kept talking for awhile about arrangements and dates, but Harleen didn't really hear any of it. Where did she go so wrong? Harleen stared blankly ahead as her brother's voice buzzed in her ear. Well, at least it didn't matter so much that she was going to lose her job, she thought sick with irony. She mumbled some agreements and hung up the phone, numb in the silence of her office. The tears had just begun to roll down her cheeks, sobs starting to rack her body, when a deafening crack broke the silence, followed by several more, coming from somewhere down the hall, rapid in their succession. Harleen had often heard such noises as a child, sometimes even followed by the bright blue-red light of police cars, bathing her bedroom in their flickering luminescence. She ducked instinctively beneath her thick wood desk as more shots rang out. Some sounded like handguns, loud single shots, and the returning fire sounded automatic, quick _pop-pop-pops_ that echoed down the corridors.

Harleen was shaking violently beneath the desk, the adrenaline making her eyes sharp and the gunshots painfully loud to her sensitive ears. She looked down at her phone after a moment, realizing she should call someone, the police, but when she clicked it on, her phone said "No service." in the top corner. _Guess he really had thought of everything_ , she thought distantly. The gunshots quieted, and she hesitantly peeked out from under the desk, looking around at the unchanged office. Suddenly, a large _boom_ shook the walls and ceiling, dust blowing in from the crack in her door. Harleen's ears were ringing. Explosives? she thought in a daze, straightening up stiffly from her position beneath the desk and stumbling over to the door. She could lock it. Why hadn't she locked it?

Just as her hand grasped the door handle, it was ripped away, unbalancing her and making her stumble forward. She stumbled right into the broad chest of the black guard who had waved her through the checkpoint. He gave her a smirk as she scrambled away, while he and another man entered the office.

"Boss wants to see you." the man rumbled.

Harleen's eyes widened and she backed away, putting the desk between herself and the two men.

"Aw, c'mon now, don't be shy." the other guard said, and the two moved towards her with casual ease, one on either side so she couldn't escape. Harleen picked the smaller man, a stranger, and aimed a vicious kick right between his legs. He wasn't expecting it, and the kick connected solidly, the impact making her foot sore. The man let out a strangled cry before crumpling to the floor. Harleen was turning, lashing out at the black guard, but she was too slow, and he grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her forward into a crushing bear hug.

"You shouldn't have done that." he said as he crushed the air from her lungs, effectively stopping her struggles. The man on the floor just coughed and let out the occasional strangled obscenity. The bigger one lifted her like she weighed nothing, still locked in the hug, and began to carry her from the room.

Outside the office was chaos. Concrete dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, making the world hazy and indistinct. The main lights were out, emergency backup lights dimly illuminating the halls with an eerie blue glow. Shadows lay thick in corners and in the high ceilings. Outside the room, she heard more gunfire being exchanged somewhere farther in the building. The huge guard carried her along, even as Harleen kicked and fought him, ragged furious screams tearing from her throat. Her foot connected with something and she heard the man grunt, stumbling a moment, but they continued along down the hall regardless. She was carried into a large, open room, one of the medical exam rooms for incoming patients. The glass cases that held various medical supplies were knocked over, broken glass strewing the tiled floors, gauze and bandages and pill bottles littered haphazardly amidst the glittering glass shards. The guard hefted her up above the shards, his heavy black boots crunching atop them as he walked into the room. A man dressed like a goat in a three piece suit, carrying a large rifle, walked past one of the open doors, and Harleen wondered if she'd imagined it.

She listened more exchanges of gunfire somewhere far down the hall, the sound so much louder and more shocking now that she was out in the thick of it. The guard paused a moment, hesitating as if waiting for something, before another explosion rocked the building, followed by a dull metallic clang. There was shouting, the occasional scream, she could hear now that she herself had finally quieted, although the blood pumping in her ears threatened to drown out all else. An incessant buzzing cut through the din, leaving Harleen feeling dizzy, even as the guard carrying her dropped her down like a sack of potatoes onto an examination table, the flat metal surface slamming painfully into her flesh, but she almost didn't notice. The guard was looking off towards the door that led to the C wing corridor, where all the high risk patients were housed. Harleen seized the opportunity of his distraction, lashing out with a stiletto heeled foot and striking him right in the face, but it was a glancing blow, slicing his cheek open in an ugly gash that began to swell immediately. The huge man growled and seized her ankles, pulling her forward so roughly that her head flew backwards and slammed into the metal table. He ripped off her heels and sent them flying to the corners of the room. Then, he was on her in a flash, rough hands gripping her shoulders, arms, legs, as she transformed into a writhing ball of fury, flailing viciously in her desperation. His hands had just found her throat, panic spiking suddenly as the immense pressure set in, until she heard a familiar, slow laugh echoing through the open door.

" _Whatta we have here?_ " a haunting voice called from the doorway. The Joker strode in, Joseph following behind, looking regal and triumphant in nothing but plain beige patient pants. He held his arms up, grinning, relishing in the freedom of movement without guards, chains, or straight jacket. The tattoos were vivid and shocking- Harleen had seen them all thoroughly documented in his case file, each photographed and catalogued, but somehow, seeing them bare and in person was so much more affecting. The large guard had released his grip immediately upon hearing the Joker's dry laughter, and backed away from Harleen nervously, eyes trained on the Joker. He started to stammer out something, but J gave the man a curt nod of the head, towards the door, dismissing him with a scowl. Harleen watched him go, hurrying from the room, and she noticed more men moving up and down the halls, all carrying rifles and hauling bodies. Smoke wafted in from somewhere down the hall, giving the scene a dreamy cast, and she enjoyed a moment of imagination, pretending she was still asleep in her bed at home. As the pair approached, Harleen came back to herself, noticing how frightened Joseph looked as when came up beside her- he was sweating and shaking, chest heaving in a fitful rhythm.

The Joker strode forward until he was standing at the head of Harleen's table. He grabbed the large exam lamp that had been pointing at the ceiling, one of the few light sources in the dark room, and pointed it down at Harleen, the harsh fluorescent light temporarily blinding her. She tried to shield her eyes, but Joseph had moved forward and grabbed her, and was now looping thick leather straps about her wrists and across her belly, pinning her arms at her sides. She was forced to blink up at the light, eyes slowly adjusting, heart racing, as the Joker began to speak.

"So, what seems to be the problem, Doc?" he was animated as he spoke, large sweeping arm movements punctuating each sentence. "Not sleeping very well? We have pills for that. Fix you right up. I know you've been having problems at home, Harley." Her heart raced as he danced between topics. "You shouldn't yell at poor homeless drunks." Her overtaxed mind struggled to keep up with his insinuations. Had he been watching her from the start? Before that? He crouched beside her then, speaking low into her ear. "Everybody's just trying to get their fix." Joseph was wheeling something over, but Harleen couldn't tell what it was beyond the glint of metal. The Joker turned towards him ceremoniously, lifting a pair of purple nitrile gloves from the table and snapping them over his hands. He turned back to Harleen, and she saw the flash of metal, some implement in his hands. Her eyes stung with fearful tears, but anger boiled in her gut. She spat out the words without thinking, accent slurring her speech.

"So whaddya gonna do, ya gonna kill me Mistah J?" Her jaw worked furiously, eyes staring obstinately up at her patient, even as all hope drained out of her, leaving her cold.

"What?" He almost burst out laughing, and tapped his head. "Oh, I'm not gonna kill you." He leaned forward, and she saw that the glinting metal had been the electrodes of an ECT machine. He grinned down at her from inches away, playfully circling the electrodes just near her temples, without touching. "I'm just gonna hurt you. Really, really bad."

"You think so?" she asked without thinking, "Yeah, well, I can take it." Harleen felt hollow, empty, the anger a distant current far beneath her surface. She thought about her shitty life, about her dead mother, her absent father, and believed with a defiant confidence that no physical pain could match what she'd been through. What she felt right now. She could hardly feel her own body, and didn't jump when the Joker snapped a length of leather above her, placing it delicately between her teeth. Still, she instinctively strained at her bindings as she heard the ECT machine turn on, the high pitched whine piercing the chaotic sounds of gunfire and screaming that still echoed from elsewhere in the Asylum. Venemous, hateful thoughts about this monster who had taken everything from her consumed her mind until he placed the cold metal on her skin, and her world was obliterated with blinding pain, carrying her away into Hell.


	7. Glasgow Smile

Harleen faded in and out of consciousness, and was grateful for it. When the pain subsided and she came back to herself, she couldn't quite remember where she was or what was going on. At first, she would remember she was Dr. Harleen Quinzel, psychiarist to the infamous Joker, whose dark eyes glittered down at her as her eyes refocused in the dimly lit room. Then the pain would come again, twisting her body, every muscle tensing painfully as she writhed against her leather bindings. She would've screamed- she wanted to scream- but her jaw clamped down on the leather he'd placed in her mouth, even her lungs and vocal chords tensing so that only a muffled guttural wail eminated from deep within her chest, cutting off in a strangled gurgle as the pain reached it's crescendo and she passed out once more.

In that place, time had no meaning. Harleen was transported back to various times in her life. Her darkened bedroom, streetlights cutting harsh beams through her broken blinds. Her father, stinking of booze, thick clammy hands groping beneath her blankets in the dark, the pain, the fear. Silent tears. Her shrill voice audible above her father's hasty shushing. _"Daddy."_ The Joker's grin materializing out of the bars of light she stared hard at, waiting for it to all be over.

Her brother's friends following her home after school, pushing her into the alley, all older than her, no chance at fighting back. She'd dropped her books, trying to gather them up, being dragged away by each arm. Being punched, kicked- her brother's wide eyes watching it all from a distance, silently fascinated. The hot stinking piss spraying all over her as the boys laughed. Harleen didn't cry anymore by then.

She came back to herself slowly, one sense at a time. The deep purr of an expensive car. Men talking. Turning corners- her head lolling, blonde hair loose and wild. Chill night air. The Joker's laugh. Harleen opened her eyes with great effort, peering around at the interior of a long limousine. A bunch of strange men stared back at her from across the limo, some smiling, others with blank, impassable expressions. They were all sharply dressed, either in suits or dark dress clothes. Harleen's hands went to her temples, pressing gingerly at them, stinging sunburned skin on either side, where he'd shocked her for those long hours. That _eternity._ Harleen shuddered, a chill coursing through her body, then looked down. She was wearing a shimmery black dress, very short, complete with black heels, jewelry and matching purse. She almost blushed- this was not something she would have ever worn herself, and rearranged her legs to try and regain some modesty. The men just laughed, and Harleen felt sick as the old memories assaulted her.

His face seemed to materialize out of the dark, Harleen wondered silently how she could have missed him sitting there, near the front. The Joker's eyes flicked all over her body, then he moved forward, closing the small distance between them, and reached a hand out to grasp her face, wiping at some bit of smudged make-up there. Harleen felt like a deer caught in headlights, frozen, until one of the men cleared his throat and spoke.

"Uh, boss. She looks kinda, rough around the edges. You sure it'll be alright?"

The Joker was still staring at Harleen's face, holding her there, even as she stared at the floor, trying to avoid him, but too frightened to slap his hand away.

"It'll be fine." He purred after a moment. "He likes them a little rough. Likes to play the white knight." The Joker giggled to himself a little, before stifling it and moving back to his seat. He reclined in the seat, stretching like some big cat, before fixing Harleen with a stare once more.

"We're going to visit some friends, Harley. This man..." He produced a picture of some beefy guy in a suit, a high class whore on each arm, laughing in a nightclub. The photo was grainy and taken from far away. "...was nice enough to take care of some of my establishments while I was on vacation." He flashed her a grin. "Now that I'm back, we need to have a little chat with him, but he hasn't been returning my calls." The Joker gave a heartbroken frown. "You're going to help sweeten the deal a little." Harleen began to sweat a little, but the Joker waved her away. "Nothing you can't handle, darling. You're just going to walk in and order a drink. My man inside will make sure you get called up to meet our friend here." He tapped the photo. "Just smile, play nice. Find a way to get him to come outside. A smoke, maybe something a little more..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. "Fun. We'll be waiting for you outside. Easy-peasy."

Harleen was barely listening, eyes darting back and forth between the strange and silent men, and the ever-talkative Joker. He was letting her out, alone? Seriously? Maybe she could find someone to help her. Get to a payphone, or ask to use someone's cell, then call the police. He's not even sending anyone in with me, she thought, but he seemed to notice where her mind was going, and moved over to plunk down beside her, draping one arm over her bare shoulders in an uncomfortably tight embrace. "I can see you're nervous." He said, "Here's something that might cheer you up." He clicked a tiny remote control held in his other hand, and a small flat screen tv she hadn't noticed flicked to life. It was tuned to the local news show, letting Harleen know it was the evening the day after everything had happened at the Asylum. As the Joker increased the volume, her heart dropped to her feet, skin going cold.

"...identified as his new therapist, Miss Harleen Quinzel. Preliminary reports tell us that Miss Quinzel did in fact aid in the Joker's escape from Arkham, as it was her ID badge that was used to allow the unknown assailants into the facility during yesterday's riot and the subsequent escape of many of Gotham's most notorious criminals. The Joker and Miss Quinzel's whereabouts are unknown at this time. Police are advising people to stay indoors..."

Photos of Harleen faded in and out as the reporter continued speaking, detailing Harleen's past achievements, even going so far as to include the rumours about her ill-gotten psych degree. Harleen just scowled at it, angry tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Did none of them even consider the possibility that she had been manipulated, taken against her will? They painted her as a lovesick fool, doting on her criminal lover. Harleen felt her hands ball into fists, until her nails began to pierce skin and she forced them open. Meanwhile, the Joker was drinking in her reactions with barely restrained glee. When Harleen finally spoke, it came out as a rough whisper, her voice scratchy and raw from... she couldn't remember.

"They all think I'm just an idiot." She whispered, half to herself, staring forward blankly, not really seeing her surroundings anymore.

"Of course they do." he whispered, drawing her close, "But that's just perfect. _They'll never see you coming._ " The Joker grinned at her from the side, so good naturedly that Harleen couldn't stop herself from smiling a little. She wiped at the angry tears as he laughed quietly to himself. The limo pulled to a stop, and one of the strangers held the door open politely. Chill night air drifted in, along with the pulsing base of club music behind concrete walls. Harleen took a deep breath, steeling herself, before climbing out of the vehicle. The Joker swatted her ass on the way out, and she stifled a squeal, scowling back at him, but the door was already shut, the vehicle pulling away to disappear down a side alley. Harleen shivered, the thin dress making her feel naked, and hurried up to the door.

There was a line of people waiting to get into the club, stretching far around the block. Harleen's palms started sweating as she approached- she never went clubbing, and didn't know anything about it beyond what she'd seen in some movies. With each step, her dread increased, until she was standing before a formidable looking man dressed in black, holding a clip board, whom she assumed to be the bouncer. He was listening to something from the little device in his ear, and paused to look her up and down. A half cooked explanation died on her lips as he wordlessly unclipped the barrier, waving her through. The couple at the front of the line glared and cursed at her as she hurried inside, and Harleen allowed herself a moment of triumph, grinning and making a face at them over her shoulder.

Inside, the music was a palpable thing- it hit her like a wall as the inner doors opened, pulsing along with the various coloured lights and laser beams that sliced their way across the massive dance floor. Harleen was momentarily blinded by the intensity of it all- hundreds of bodies undulating in time with the rhythm, falling and breaking on each other like some great ocean. It was only an instant before someone bumped into her, standing in the door way as she was, breaking her out of her daze. She walked tentatively towards the bar, hoping her fear didn't show in her gait. The music worked its magic on her, slowly ebbing away the anxiety and fear that had become the entirety of her existence these past months. The Joker had actually trusted her with this, a small part of her mind whispered. His business. He saw her potential like no one else ever had. The thought warmed in her belly as she sidled up to the bar. The bartender gave her that creepy knowing nod that Harleen was just starting to get used to, pouring her a double Jack on the rocks without even asking. Harleen stared at it, one eyebrow raised, but shook her head before she could overthink how the man had known her drink of choice. She sipped at it, waiting for what came next.

She didn't have to wait long before another beefy bouncer type was tapping on her shoulder and leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Excuse me Miss, you've been invited upstairs." He nearly shouted into her ear to be heard over the unceasing music. She just nodded in response, standing, opening her purse to try and find something to pay the bartender with, but it was empty, and he just waved her away, moving down the line to serve other patrons. Harleen made a face, but secretly she was enjoying herself. She'd never been shown such respect or deference in her life. It was something she could _seriously_ get used to.

Harleen walked with confidence up the sleek, winding staircase that led to the upper lounge. The lounge overlooked the club from on high, all low tables and black leather. The music was slightly quieter up here, she couldn't feel the reverberations in her chest, but it was still impossible to have any sort of conversation without shouting. As she turned the final corner, Harleen noticed the man from the Joker's photo, sitting on a black leather couch surrounded by other men, all of them holding drinks and laughing together. The men's eyebrows all shot upwards as she approached, high heeled legs strutting out with new found confidence. Harleen felt her breath catch as every man's eye focused on her every move. She shot them a dazzling smile, and they all nearly melted. How easy it was, she thought, to have them eating out of her hand like this. How simple, how _powerful._

She strode forward right towards the man Joker had sent her for, sitting down delicately on his lap and letting out a little giggle. The man stared up at her, slack jawed, before regaining some composure. He grinned back at her, eyes full of dark heat as he cupped her ass and pulled her close. He waved her close, putting his mouth near her ear to half-shout the question, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Harleen gave him her sweetest little girl voice, accent thick and dripping with innuendo when she replied, "Harley, baby." Leaning forward to brush her lips on his ear, she felt him stiffen beneath her, pulling back to study her face. His fingertips brushed the burns on her temples, the bruise on her cheek, poorly concealed by make up. His eyes questioned her's, but she just shrugged. "Had a fight with my boyfriend." She cooed, draping an arm across his shoulders. "Maybe you can help make me feel better." She studied his handsome face, one delicate finger tracing along his square jaw, and knew that he would do whatever she asked tonight. The realization filled her with fire, seeping out through her manic grin, her bubbly laugh.

It was awhile before she had a chance to get him outside. They partied, and drank, Harley mostly sipping politely at hers while the boys cheered and gulped down drink after drink. They played games, told stories, laughed loudly. Harley eyed the other men, wondering which one of them was Joker's man, but eventually decided it was impossible to tell. When some of the men left to get more drinks, Harley decided it was time to try and get the big guy to go outside. She sat down on his lap again, pressing her body against his. He smiled up at her, visibly drunk now, one hand absently playing with her blonde curls. His other hand snaked up the hem of her dress, and she shivered as his fingertips brushed the edge of her lace panties, damp with excitement and the heat of the club. She giggled into his ear as his fingers moved upwards, pushing the lace aside to stroke the edge of her cunt, toying with the slippery smooth skin, parting her lips as she gasped above him. She put a hand on either side of his large face as his fingers plunged deeper, mouth opening in a surprised "oh", pleasure jolting it's way all through her body. His fingers sought further, opening her, pressing deep inside as more wetness seeped out. She could feel him hard and straining through his jeans, and whispered, "Let's go." quite simply into his ear. The big man needed no further explanation, and half lifted her until they were both standing. The pair made their way down the winding staircase, Harley in the lead, giggling back as the man tried to grab her ass while she walked. She swatted his hand away, chiding him playfully as she navigated the stairs in her high heels.

When they got outside, the line up was almost completely gone. It was pretty late, most of the standees fleeing the cold for more likely prospects. Harley stumbled along with the strange man, breathlessly looking around the dark streets for the Joker's limo. The sudden absence of sound was eerie, palpable, and seemed to make the cold bite even deeper. Harley's heart beat in her throat as she failed to spot the limo anywhere. Remembering the side alley that it had slid down, she tugged the man's wrist, leading him with a knowing smile towards the alley. He just chuckled back, already unbuckling his belt as they rounded the corner, making Harley look away to conceal a look of disgust at his boyish eagerness.

Harley looked at the empty alley in dismay. The limo was nowhere to be seen. Was this some sort of final joke on her? A final indignity- maybe the police were on their way to arrest her, or perhaps paparazzi, ready to take tomorrow's front page photo, Joker's lover, drunk with her panties down in some dank alley. Harley clenched a fist even as the man pushed her up against the wall. There was no fighting it now, not with how she'd been leading him on all night. She allowed herself to be turned around, face pressed into the rough brick as he hiked up the dress over her hips, fumbling hand grabbing at her thong so hard it's delicate fabric ripped, dropping uselessly into a puddle at her feet. The man slapped her ass roughly, grunting out a slurred, "Yeah, you slut, you want it don't you?" Harley clenched her teeth, anger flaring in her veins, and closed her eyes, waiting for what came next, for it to be over. Instead, she heard the roar of an engine, saw the bright flash of headlights as the limo flared to life from somewhere down the way, materializing out of the mist like some dark spectre. It screeched to a halt in front of Harley and the man, who was hastily stuffing his cock back into his pants, the door opening for them. Hands shot out and grabbed the man, pinning his arms behind his back, muffling his shouts, drawing him inside. Then, the Joker's face appeared, peering out at her from around the corner, grinning as always. He held a hand out to her, beckoning silently, and Harley hesitated for the barest of moments before grasping it and allowing him to draw her inside. Harley couldn't help but feel relief at the Joker's timely arrival, couldn't help but feel safer inside the warm vehicle, than out in the cold alley.

Harley felt like some of the faces of J's entourage had changed in the few hours since they'd left her, but she couldn't be certain. She moved to the back, Joker following, until they sat side by side, both eyeing the blubbering man on the floor with a similar disdain. Harley unconsciously pressed herself into the corner, head spinning with the intensity of events, content to let herself drift again into unreality as she watched the Joker work.

"You've been a naughty boy, Jacob." He chided, even as the man wept and begged for his life on the floor of their limo. "I told you I would be coming back. I don't make promises lightly." The Joker's voice took a dark cast as he went on. "You're going to help me with something before you go, though, Jacob." The Joker moved forward, causing the man to flinch visibly, but he simply put a hand on the man's shoulder, sliding it around him like a snake until his arm was draped over the larger man's broad shoulders in a sort-of embrace. The pair faced Harley where she was pressed into the side of the limo, knees drawn up as close to her chest as she could manage without flashing everyone. The Joker met her eyes and held them, a toothy grin splitting his face, although no humour sparked in his eyes. The man had stopped weeping, trembling hopefully in the Joker's arms at the slight implication of his going anywhere ever again. The Joker stared at Harley purposefully before speaking quietly. "Fast, or slow?" he asked her.

Harley thought about it for a moment. Anger still pulsed in her, a burning trail of it leading all the way back to her brother's friends and their piss, all the way back to her father. She stared piteously at the man's tear-streaked face that stared up at her, and whispered, "Slow."

The Joker began giggling as he drew a pocket blade out from inside his coat, the thick arms of his men darting forward to grab Jacob and hold him steady. He began to scream, wordless, terrified, until the Joker moved forward lightning-quick and held the point of his blade just over Jacob's left eye. The man quieted almost instantly, wide eye staring upwards at the silvery blade poised so close. The Joker's hands did not tremble as he held it there. "Shhhh..." he breathed, moving the blade away after a moment. Jacob relaxed visibly, muscles going slack, until J slid a pale white arm around Jacob's forehead. Bracing the man's head against himself, the Joker began to slowly draw his blade up across Jacob's cheek, slicing the mouth open at the corner. Thick, dark blood poured out, filling the man's mouth and spraying out as he struggled to breathe past it. As he sliced, he spoke very evenly to the man. "Don't scream." The Joker said, "Don't scream or it will tear wide open."

Jacob screamed.


End file.
